


Playing 8-Ball

by semataryeyes



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alcoholism, Angst, Cocaine Abuse, Drug Abuse, Heartache, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semataryeyes/pseuds/semataryeyes
Summary: Gerard is drowning and he doesn’t mind at all.





	Playing 8-Ball

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t normally write things like this, but it came to me easily.

Slam.

Clatter.

Zip.

Thud.

Creak.

Sniff.

Cough.

Shuffle.

Sprinkle.

Crunch.

Scrape.

Roll.

Lean.

Snort.

Sniff. 

Exhale.

Laugh.

Gerard’s nightly routine after work. Snort a few lines of cocaine before his room mate gets home and spend the night watching old Mythbusters reruns. The drips come fast, sliding down the back of his throat. His eyes catch the ceiling and his pupils are the size of pin needles. Mind racing, bubbles forming in his brain. He’s gigging and he’s happy and he feels at peace in his euphoria. 37 minutes have passed and as the tips of his fingers start to tingle he hears the door to his apartment open. He hears keys clatter on the kitchen table and the rubber soles of shoes squeaking against the tile floor. There’s a voice, it sounds annoyed. Frank. 

He’s on the phone, but with who? Must be his father again. Or his ex. Or his boss. No, it’s too late to be his boss. It’s probably his ex. “We’ve talked about this before.” Gerard hears. “I’m not giving you another chance. Don’t call me.” It’s his ex. The one with the blue hair and the pretty smile. She always had a smile on her face. I guess that’s why she cheats. There’s a sigh, then a groan, then another clatter. Phone on the table. Gerard’s throat begins to tingle, then go numb. He can’t feel his tonsils. He moves his eyes from the TV to the other side of the room where he hears Frank rummaging around in the kitchen. He stands and steadies and picks up his now half empty baggie and slips it in his pocket. Frank is heating up leftovers from the night before. He made spaghetti, the only food they had in the house. Times are rough, rent barely gets made, but Gerard still gets his cocaine. 

“Frankie,” Gerard says, his high not intense but still lingering. Frank raises his head and theres a smile on his face, but then a frown. Gerard looks at him and frowns back, not sure why he’d have that expression. He’s very good at acting sober. Frank picks up a paper towel and turns to Gerard, reaching up and dabbing at his left nostril. Blood. 

“Oh,” Is all Gerard can say. He should have known better. He should have checked first. 

Frank is silent. He slides his hand up into his hair and hesitates. He can feel Gerard’s hot breath against him, he’s standing close. Frank wants to slap him. He wants to kiss him. He wants to hug him. He does none of the above. He takes his plate of lukewarm spaghetti out of the microwave and goes off to his room, shutting the door behind him. 

Gerard stands there, not really sure what to do. He could go after Frank and try to explain, but it wouldn’t do any good. He could snort a few more lines, but then he wouldn’t have any for tomorrow. He sighs and sits up on the counter, kicking his legs and looking around the room. He’ll wait until his high wears off and then he’ll go see Frank. Yes. He’ll apologize. He’ll make it better. 

29 more minutes pass and Gerard is no longer high. He gets off the counter where he had slipped into a silly day dream. He gets those a lot. He thinks of his life as a famous singer. He’d be so pretty under all those lights. Everyone would love him. Everyone would want him. He wouldn’t have to pay for drugs ever again. 

He walks to Frank’s room and leans on the door, listening. He hears the TV and faint breathing. He knocks. 

“What?” The breathing behind the door has a voice. 

“Can I come in?” Gerard asks, tilting his head and resting his forehead on the plywood of the door. 

“Whatever,” The voice replies, it’s annoyed. No, it’s sad. Gerard twists the knob and opens the door and expects to step forward and fall into an endless pit. Where he falls and falls and falls forever, but it’s just the soft carpet of Frank’s floor. He wiggles his socked toes over it and smiles. 

“Do you need something? I don’t have any money to get you a pack of smokes,” Frank says, his eyes sunken like he’d been crying. 

“I don’t need money. I have my own smokes,” Gerard pulls a slightly crumpled pack out of his pocket and takes a seat in the chair next to the window. He opens it and lights one up and looks out at the night sky as cool air blows against his face. 

Frank doesn’t say anything. He switches off the tv and gets up off the bed. His eyes glued to the back of Gerard’s head. Pause. 

“You told me you quit,” There’s the voice again. Gerard turns his cheek slightly to the left and then shrugs, his shoulders slumping back down as he takes a drag off his cigarette. 

“I’ve said a lot of things, they’re not all true,” Gerard exhales smoke and flicks his ash out the open window. The voice laughs and then falters, and then it breaks and sobs. Gerard turns to see Frank sitting at the edge of his bed, tears steaming down his cheeks and his bottom lip quivering. 

“Frankie, please don’t cry,” Gerard says, resting his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill. He turns and stands and sits next to Frank on the bed. “I’m okay, there’s no need to cry.” 

“You know I’m worried. You could die,” Frank blubbers, barely audible. 

Gerard rests his hand on Frank’s lower back and shakes his head, rubbing in circles and mumbling something about how he’s fine. 

“I’d never take anything that wasn’t safe,” A lie. He’d take whatever he could get his hands on. “Here, come here. Lay with me.”

Frank watches as Gerard shifts into his bed and rests against his pillows. He hesitates before turning around and cuddling up to Gerard’s side. He’s warm and he smells like cigarettes and beer and cologne. 

“I’m going to take care of us. Don’t you worry. One day you won’t have to lift a finger. You can live happily and do whatever you want,” Gerard speaks into Frank’s hair. That isn’t a lie. Gerard has sugar daddies that he sees once a week each. They’re all high rollers and filthy rich and throw money at him even if he just sits on their cocks and doesn’t move. They still cum. They’re that old. 

Frank feels sick to him stomach. He knows, even though he wishes he didn’t. Gerard makes his money a certain way and always claims it’s all that he’s good at it. Gerard owes money, a lot of it, and after it’s paid off they will both be set for life, except Frank will have to deal with the fact that the man he’s hopelessly in love with fucks older men for a living, and won’t even give Frank a second glance. Frank wishes that Gerard could see how much he is loved, and how talented he is and how much potential he holds. But the drugs and the booze have ruined him. It breaks Frank’s heart. But he doesn’t say any of this. He just nods and rests his head on Gerard’s chest. His heart is beating fast, like it normally does. 

Frank feels Gerard’s hands stroking through his hair, rubbing the strands in between the calloused pads of his fingers. Gerard does love Frank, but he knows he could never go there. Frank has a heart of gold and a smile that could light up the night sky. He is, and always has been too good for Gerard. He would just get hurt over and over again by Gerard’s drug and alcohol addiction. Sad but true, Gerard would never be able to love anyone. Cocaine is his one true love. And he knows that one day, it will be the cause of his demise. And he is perfectly okay with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> For noah: enjoy you sad, sad son of a bitch.


End file.
